In and Out, Mostly Out WC 240

In and Out, Mostly Out

I open my eyes after what seems like a long sleep. I sit up and lean against a door jam. I am in an old, musty house. Rats are skittering across the warped wooden floor. I try to pull back into a tinier me to avoid them, but I can’t.

“Hello?” I yell, but it comes out a whispery echo.

The word seems to bounce off the moving walls of what appears to be a study. As the walls slither in and out of themselves, they change appearance: black to blue, blue to red, red to an ugly floral wallpaper, like the one in my Grandma Edna’s house.

This is a strange place.

Where am I anyway? I look toward the broken window above a dusty desk. From my vantage point in the doorway, I see three belching smokestacks against an orange sky. What in the world?

There is an eery moaning coming from above me.

“Ooo, ooo…”

There must be an upper floor. Once I can stand up, I’ll go up there and look around. Maybe then I can find some answers.

I can barely swallow. My mouth is stuffed with cotton balls. Whaat?

How did I get here? How do I get out of this strange place?

The last thing I remember is the dentist putting a gizmo over my mouth and asking me to count backward from ten. I remember getting to five. That's all I remember.